Expanding the Present

Sickness and recuperation are great times for practising new spiritual modalities.

I've almost finished David Abram's The Spell of the Sensuous, and I was motivated enough by his description of a method for expanding the Present to try it out for myself.

Abram recommends doing this outdoors, preferably in a non urban setting, but I started it inside, in a suburban setting, being the contrary cuss that I am at times.

His method is to stand (sit in lotus in my case) and imagine the full weight of all your years of personal past extending behind you in a sort of balloon-like structure, while all your years to come - your personal future - inflates a similar balloon in front of you.
You are thus standing at the confluence of the two balloons - past and future - in a pinched funnel meeting somewhere in your body. Around your third chakra, or solar plexus, would be about right.

Fairly slowly, start collapsing the two balloons of past and future time. Feel the mass of all this temporality flow into the space where you stand. Faster and faster, deflate the balloons, as the time-space immediately around you....expands.

I can't explain the feeling this engenders. You're going to have to try it for yourself to see what I mean. It's a rush of Presence so intense it can take your breath away. But breathe.

With practise, I can do this almost anywhere now, and it's a very handy tool when the Machine threatens to envelop me during my day-to-day living.

I'm still looking for the right words to describe this feeling. Umm. Intense 'hereness' as well as 'nowness'. A sense of Reality quite a bit more persuasive than the normal mode we tend to live in. Deep. Comforting. Strong. Reassuring.

Nope - I was right, I don't have the words. Maybe the words are...not.
Maybe you have to go out there and do this.

Pic: Found Here

Dreams of Fish

A virus, and its cohort of opportunistic bacteria, has been using my body as something of a playground this week.

My doctor, who thinks he’s a very witty man, noted that I wasn’t suddenly eating more lettuce than usual or wallowing in the dirt, and pronounced me free of Swine ‘Flu.
It has been, however, as he predicted, a very nasty bug indeed.

Last night, sun and moon in Leo, I dreamed of building aquaria, and stocking them with colourful little tropical fish. One came apart at the seams almost immediately. Another kept leaking, and I had to constantly top up the water level, and restock it from other fish-filled glass boxes.

Suddenly – as happens in dreams – I was passing down a road, and I noticed intense flames raging out of the back door of a small house. Entering the building I saw that the source of the fire was the leaky aquarium. Its electric pump had shorted. I put out the fire, and still had at least one working, seamless aquarium.

Crystal clear water and little jewel-bright fish. An unmistakable symbol, to me, of spirituality and emotional intelligence. Love and all its attendants are represented here, as well as the myriad deities we create and populate our Cosmos with.

And it’s true – I have been a spiritual bumbler, an emotional infant, for most of my life. I believe that I was just reminding myself of this unpalatable fact. As well as giving myself a clear message that I’m still able to find my wholeness, that all is very much not lost.

Re-Membering

Parked at a filling station while retrieving the mail from the PO Box, I had one of Those Moments.

Gazing at a Douglas Fir back-dropped by the blue Highveld Winter sky - home to Pied Crows, Indian Mynahs, assorted rodents and myriad unicellular organisms – I am in full possession of the Reason. The reason we keep coming back to this Earth – whether as Crow or Human, wavelet or virus, blades of grass or rambling ivy – the pull and wonder of this place we call Home is irresistible. I am swept by a feeling of deep and rooted Love, coming from me, coming from the tree, and radiating from the sky. It’s all around again, and my sometime anger and angst at being submerged in a Wetiko culture is washed away.

I’ll never realize that sweet logic, that reason for being, while my eyes are enmeshed with petrol pumps. Or office towers. Or multi-unit “contemporary living” high security complexes. My soul blanches when I engage with such. But the Douglas Fir – tall, wispily, fuzzily firm in the still Winter air, a foreign national of unknown provenance and unknowable agenda, reminds me like a hammer blow to the thorax that this is what Life means, this is the reason we draw breath as humans, crows or bacteria. This is it.

To try to draw meaning from the jagged outlines of components of the Machine is a short-lived, at best, and entirely futile, most often, enterprise. The Machine can confer no reason, no logos, no Hah! of recognition.

A little later, I was engaged in the pastime of foraging for my food, Machine Style.
A brightly lit supermarket (pardon me –hyper market. Bigger must be better) funnels us into its maw, shoves a trolley into our hands, and, moving to the beat of a thousand million pistons, we march in lockstep with every other human who has come here to ‘do the monthly groceries’.

Cunningly-wrought plastic packaging vies on the shelves for my attention. Buy Me! Me! Me! While each competitor for my purchase offers no real information as to why it should be the Chosen Product, rather than its equally garish shelf-neighbour. Hydrogenised, over-salted, artificially coloured processed Durham Wheat proclaims itself “Short Spaghetti in Tomato Sauce”: and you and I are really none the wiser, nutritionally or spiritually. For these tins, boxes and plastic packages cannot, however hard their manufacturers try, actually communicate to you anything of worth. Whereas the Rocket in my garden has plenty to say, these plasticized regurgitations of the soulless Machine cannot offer a single word. Despite the ugly, ambush-the-eyesight nature of their exterior coatings. Not a damn word.

We’ve had our ability to communicate with the interlocking web of life taken away from us. Even if we wanted to, very very few of us could raise sufficient food on the land we inhabit to sustain us. Or even know where to begin. For we’ve had the ability to live in mesh with the land removed from us, as well. By thousands of years of ever-more aggressive agriculture, and a culture which ensures that we are dependant our whole lives upon the structure of the Machine.

Go to school, or you’ll never amount to anything. Meaning: you’ll never get anyone to pay you enough money to exchange for vital foodstuffs. Go to Grammar School. Go to University, or you’ll never learn enough Machine Code to be Successful. As Wetiko culture counts successful, that means being able to persuade someone to pay you enough of this money stuff that you can show off your ‘wealth’ and announce to the culture that you have ‘arrived’.

The culture ensures- by sending you to school, by having assimilated your parents before you were even born – that your choice is removed, that you have an entirely one-eyed view of the world, and that you never develop the longing (let alone the ability) to remake your connection with Momma Matrix, the true home of all life.
If, as has happened to me, you should begin to awaken to the theft of your being, your birthright, your natural knowledge and functions at a point somewhat more than halfway through your life, you will find that your ability to exist independently of the Machine has been effectively amputated.
Only the throbbing of the struck-off limbs might –just maybe – remind you of a time when you were Whole.

Pic: Found here

"..This Song, The Wind, Thy Womb."

Embrace the art of letting go

A few days ago, in the night, I was approached by a bear cub.

White and grey he was.
In a state of non-ordinary consciousness which was nevertheless definitely not a dream (I know the difference- but please don't ask me how, I'm still figuring that out for myself), I found myself by the kitchen door, calling to the dogs, Scylla and Taranis.

I realised then that both dogs were already inside, but from the west side of the house here came this little fellow, putting his paw out to stop me closing the door in his face. Which I was tempted, for a moment, to do. I wasn't so much afraid as alarmed. White and grey bear cubs are not indigenous to Johannesburg.

I know that Artemis was one of our earliest bear-goddesses, and that She's had some linkage to my own patron, Hecate, in the past. Beyond that, I had no idea what the bear cub meant, wanted to say, or wanted to show me.

He's pitched up twice since then, when I've been travelling the shamanic landscape. I'm currently exploring a house I discovered nestled into a green hillside. Approached from the top of a ridge,I've been rambling through its rooms and passages for about a week. The rooms are becoming furnished now - and twice, bear cub has been with me. That's in addition to my normal full complement of two deities, two ancestors and two power animals.Quite the crowd.

I have reached down a hand to ruffle his neck fur - coarse and warm - and he has nuzzled his damp snout into my palm. He's also been quite keen for me to linger in one room of the house in particular - a south-facing long gallery which, so far, contains just a large portrait of the Lord of the Forest on the far wall.

This could be interesting. Let's see where it goes.

Artemis, please be kind to me.
My own wolves will soon devour me

Lyrics: Aesma Daeva Artemis
Pic:Here

Since The Machine

There was talk yesterday and this morning on the local radio station of a magistrate who had adjourned the day's proceedings after hearing that her dog had gone missing.

The Sowetan story refers.

"... a call had come informing the magistrate that her dog had gone missing.


“The court had to come to a standstill because the magistrate was crying for her lost dog,” said a lawyer.

“This shows that the life of a dog is more valuable than that of a person.”

He said some of the cases that were supposed to be heard on that day had to be set aside because of time constraints when the court finally resumed in the afternoon.


The lawyers accused Harrison of incompetence and demanded that she be replaced. "

I looked this story up because of the tenor of the comments and sms which were coming into the Talk Radio station. The way that this magistrate has been lambasted by the public is mind boggling. Calls for her removal, comments on her incompetence and lack of professionalism were the order of the day. Few and far between were the voices demonstrating understanding.

If the magistrate had received a call to say that her daughter was missing, I highly doubt we would have heard the round of condemnation of her actions which we were treated to.

One sms writer called the judicial lady 'insane'. That's right.

I'm not even referencing so-called dog lovers here. My question is: from where arises this incredible notion that human beings are automatically more important than any other form of life?

To the point that radio talk-show commentators - that's the general public, aka you and me - can pronounce the magistrate as insane and not have that judgement questioned.

I think many of us know where this mindset comes from. It's the ubiquitous Machine at work once more. Most people are so marinated in the culture of humans first, last and only that it really never occurs to them to question this presupposition.

We have forgotten that humankind was formed in the matrix of this planet. That the animals, plants, minerals and molecules of Earth are our very building blocks. That we are immersed in, and dependent upon, all other forms of life for our own.

Civilisation has violently disconnected humans from their natural setting, and replaced it with the - literally - mechanistic medium of The Machine, wherein all we notice, all we give headspace to and consideration for, are Man and the Creations of Man. The car, the house, the shopping mall, the cellphone - and the people attached to these creations - are all many of us are capable of considering.

We have been torn from our field of Life and we don't even acknowledge that fact.

And no, going to the Kruger Park once a year to 'view' the Big Five from an upholstered hideaway is not Reconnecting With Nature. It's a toxic mimic of it.

Who is truly insane here - the magistrate who cares so deeply for her canine companion that she must have at least the beginnings of an understanding that we are animals dependent upon other life forms, or the legions of public who have branded her as worse than a criminal?

Yeah OK, I'm Awake...

Between a time-tripping re-reading of Moorcock's Elric of Melibone and a long-awaited first reading of Abram's The Spell of the Sensuous, I find myself switching with alarming ease between states of consciousness. Perhaps it's the cold weather - tomorrow we'll have frost on the ground.

I'm keeping in mind, however, something Terence Mckenna said, almost in passing, during his workshop on Ethnobotany and Shamanism (and I'm paraphrasing): "It's one thing" he said "To change your life to become kinder to your neighbours. It's entirely another thing to change your life to become incomprehensible to ninety percent of humans."

Well, I don't quite see myself going there. While I approve of plant entheogens in general, I strongly disapprove of their usage in my particular case - being who I am, this time around. But it's as if I hardly need them. Psychedelic art only touches the boundaries of what my reconnected soul is starting now to envisage.

Perhaps its not so much a case of becoming incomprehensible to most humans, but rather of becoming far clearer to the rest of the phenomenological world.

In Perfect Love

When darkness falls on your life so hard that not even the stars are available to show you the way forward; when it's down to the wire, just you and the universe, and nowhere else to turn; when you've run out of choices and that bleak depression threatens the very core of your being: who are you going to call?

Not Jesus, that's for sure. Neither Hecate nor Anubis, Brighid or Tammuz. The gods are our own creations and while they can advise, they will not always be with you.

Trust another human being? I can approximate a good team player, trusting others to do their assigned tasks well enough so that it all comes together. I can trust another person to hold the canoe steady at the rear while I steer. I can even trust, for brief periods of time, another human with my very life.

But trust someone else with my happiness, my eternal Being?

Experience has taught me, through raw lessons, that we're not always - or not even usually - trustworthy enough one to the other to hold each other in perfect Love.

The responsibility for your own Joy lies solely with You.

And, reciprocally, the amount of Love you put out into the Universe is that which is returned, often magnified, to your soul.

Have faith in the lessons of your own path. Let your inner light be your trusty guide and guardian. Believe the evidence of your senses, inner and outer.

Let us All become our own perfect Saviours.

Chop Wood

Just because one's had a vision of certainty of How We Are, doesn't mean that one can now sit and gaze into one's navel for all eternity.

The One consciousness is filtered by different means into each incarnation's being, and we must act in accordance with what we see as necessary.

Chop wood, carry water.

The fact that Big Pharma Us continues to poison our bodies and torture animal Us is still relevant. The fact that Big Oil continues to suck Gaia Us dry of life blood is still something we need to recognize, condemn, and act to stop. The fact that Civilisation Us is demonstrably insane is another reason to dismantle civ, facilitate anarchy wherever possible, and go out and blow shit up.

So, this fleshed piece of God doesn't stop the fight just because she's been vouchsafed the sight of the Correct. I fear some people may do just this, however - seek to drown in the vision and cease the completely necessary work We have before us on this plane.

Gnosis does not imply stasis.

The difference, to me, is that I can now blow shit up with somewhat more serenity than I previously brought to the job. And laughter - laughter is more ready, deeper and touches my soul in subtly different, but noticeable, ways. Meaningless? I don't think so, not to this God, anyway.

Thank you, THE Michael Godpiece, for helping to crystallize this knowledge.

Ataraxia Part - Infinity

Riding to work in the mornings, these after-Yule days, it's still dark.

Warren was talking about something he believes strongly in, and, while I do see things in quite the same way that he does, I do understand some of the roots and causes of those beliefs.

"When you believe it's necessary to go to war against some ideal, or some group of people, you're always fighting against yourself.

There is, indeed, no part of Us that is not of the Gods - and no part of the Gods that is not of Us.

It is all one thing."

As soon as those words had issued from my mouth, I knew with utter certainty that this was the foundation and core of my being.

Not a belief - a belief implies a choice. This is just the rock-bottom reality.

It is, in fact All One Jewel, whose facets glitter in myriad array, sometimes being seen this way, sometimes that way.

Not even the shining network of gems sometimes known as Indra's Net quite describes it - for We are not the separate stones connected by communications lines portrayed there, but something else more whole, more non dual, more One.

Not a web, not a net. One Thing.

This I know with every fibre of my Being. The beliefs and attachments to causes which populate my periphery are important, yes, but they are not the core.

I have never been as certain of something as I am of this - this is my Being, and yours, and yours, and Ours.




...and then I might add, the mirages we've set ourselves up with come clattering in: people, elbowing into your space, chattering their mundane thoughts at you and breathing into your face. All of which shatters this view of What Is.

Which is why I've had to put this down while I still remember it.

Hello

Sometimes, things conspire to interrupt your complacent flow.

You know - whirlwinds, a death in the family, sudden PitBull shows....

On Saturday we attended the Pitbull Union show and, in between giving Taranis a trot in the ring and Scylla lots of trots around the rugby field, we managed to squeeze in the weekly hour at puppy-training school.

Beth and David train from their plot in Honeydew, and we go every Saturday to socialise Taranis plus benefit from Beth's considerable years of experience with dogs.

This particular morning, Scylla and I were loafing around between the Bauhinia tree and the herb garden while Taranis and Warren did all the work, as is our wont. Misty, a middle-aged blue-eyed Husky who helps keep the little puppies in line with a whack of her paw, came sniffing around the huge, old Camel's Foot tree. Eyeing me hopefully in case I had any treats about my person.

I had none, alas - but then I felt it.

Rising from the ground through the soles of my takkies, spreading up my body like a warm wave on this chilly morning - a sense of love and cherishing so intense that my jaw dropped open. I looked at the tree. I looked at Scylla, who didn't seem to feel it - or maybe she's used to this kind of thing, I'm not sure. I looked at Misty. Misty continued to look back at me.

A feeling like being wrapped in someones arms and assured that you are truly loved - yet not only you, but every sentient thing (that is, every thing) is equally loved and treasured.

Was it coming from the land?

The place I have lived for the last 6 years sometimes reminds me in this way.

The land speaks, and I am starting to hear.

Down the dusty dry path to the parking field. Across the water-swollen grass on the verges Scylla and I moved at the end of the hour. Walking to the car around the huge fenced compost heap, I stopped.

There, sprawling under the fence, in unmistakeably-leafed glory. My first plant friend, Coltsfoot.

Hello.

Daft Rambling To A Friend

Dear Braxsie,

I was going to write something completely different this morning, but my ancestors have whispered to me that this is more important.

I have been in worse financial states than you're looking at right now - oh boy, have I been in worse! I've had years when I made barely enough to keep body and soul together - and, right at the end, I pissed what little I had completely away.

Today, I live in a small house with a totally affordable bond in a lower middle class suburb, because my partner and I have no children. We have canine companions, but when all is said and done, they work out lots cheaper than human children.

I make maybe three times the salary of my partner - nothing wrong in that, it just means that I could run this whole show on my own if it ever became necessary.

We can also comfortably afford the exorbitant legal fees needed to fight these subhuman robots called RSS Security who murdered our friends. At the end of the month, we often have money left in the bank - couple of thousand, nothing major, but we never have to stress about finances.

All of this is because of that one major fact - no children.

My relationship to money has become easy - not obsessive, not fearful. Two major causes of stress in this world appear to be over fondness for wealth and fear of money. I have neither. It frees me to be able to give more attention to researching the question of who I am, who We are, and what the hell we're doing here.

Our children are our anchor into this plane. Without me or any other descendants, my ancestors would have no access into the world - and they are a great repository of wisdom from more than the earthly three dimensions. I often fucking hate human animals, mostly because we have the ability to do so much good, and yet we often behave like mass ambulatory zombies and commit deeply wounding evil upon this earth.
Yet our children are our breath and reason, as well as our anchor. Help them to grow into good and listening humans, and we've contributed greatly to the possible salvation of all Life. Our future truly depends upon them.

Besides, the bonds we have with our progeny are especially hardy - ask any axe-murderer's mother.

Ask me now, if I would trade the last 10 years of growing financial ease and comfort for having had my son with me, to love and care for and to see him grow, and I would not hesitate a heartbeat, a nanosecond. There would be nothing to think about, nothing to consider.

You are far more blessed than I, dear Braxsie - and I hope you know it.

Enough Already

No. Just No.

Cellphone service providers would, from July 1, be prohibited from activating a new SIM card unless they had captured the customer's cell number, full names, identity number and address, and verified the information.
In a joint statement later on Tuesday, MTN, Cell C and Vodacom said all cellphone subscribers, both prepaid and contract, would be required to show proof of identity as well as present a utility bill to show proof of residence to be registered

You know, if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, that I abhor cellphones and resisted getting one until my hand was pretty much forced.

Now, I don't care who can't get hold of me in an emergency. This legislation is a blatant violation of a person's privacy - not that it's not going on anyway, but I'll be double-damned if I'll willingly take part in this fascist state nonsense.

The minute any damned cellphone 'service' provider tries to get any such information out of me, is the minute that I throw the demonic device against the wall for good.